Book of Lost Tales

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Book of Lost Tales

Post by Casey on Sat Nov 29, 2014 2:29 pm

Anyone know who this is?


I do not remember my birth or my mother. My earliest memories are filled with singing birds on faraway branches in the woods outside of Radcliffe. I was left in those woods by my mother and most certainly would have died had it not been for the kindness of an old woman. Georgina Woodrow was her name and although she believed she was as close to her end as I was to my beginning she took me to her home and raised me as her own. My early years were filled with days in the forest, chasing sheep that escaped their pens, and helping animals and people with Georgina. She was a master of the healing arts, a mid-wife, herder and even tapped into the magic of nature once when healing a dieing man. She also told me stories of Middle Earth’s great forests and her early days traveling with her mother to exotic lands filled with elves, wood fairies and talking trees. It was the last topic that was guaranteed to enthrall me at each telling. The mighty trees of this world can walk and talk if they so choose, she would say, so walk lightly through a forest or you will awake great beings. She gave me this journal and with the drawing on the first page, so that I could chronicle my great adventures, little did she know how many pages I would need.


Those years were not all filled with escaping evil wood fairies and cutting down orcs in imaginary adventures; Georgina also taught me much of the world. I learned to read and write, treat the sick, pick herbs and how to ride a horse. I especially liked galloping over the rolling hills on Georgina’s horse, Floyd. Floyd was a fine animal but aging and as the sun rose on my fifteenth year he slipped forever from the waking world. I was heartbroken, although I had seen many animals and people die, Floyd’s death was more then my heart could handle.

It felt like I ran for days, and when I stopped I was standing in front of a hermit’s hovel. As night was approaching, and I had no place to stay, I knocked on the door and ask if I could come in. Gerrallt told me that if I chopped a pile of wood I could enter. I chopped for hours and by midnight still did not have enough to enter, but Gerrallt told me I could sleep in the stable until the morning. The next day I awoke to a cock’s call and a lick from an old highland cow. I was hungry because I had not eaten in so long, but Gerrallt said I could not have breakfast until I milked the cow, collected all the eggs and chopped more wood. This scenario continued for weeks with Gerrallt only giving me food or shelter when I worked for it. My body ached each night as I lay in bed, but after three moons a change came over him. He began teaching me about the glories of Rohan. He also taught me how to throw axes and spears, how to protect myself with a shield and how to wield a sword. But much like dear Floyd, Gerrallt’s days were numbered.


I woke late one morning to the sounds of yelping dogs outside the hovel. I sprang to my feet, grasped by spear, shield and sword and ran outside. Gerrallt was being attacked by a pack of wolves. He was already bleeding, and was armed only with a big stick. I threw a spear at one of the beasts and it collapsed. I drew my sword and waded into the melee. How I defeated so many I do not know, but half a dozen fell to my sword. I was wounded badly and in several places, but Gerrallt was safe. As I lay on the ground exhausted from the fight I could feel the blood leaving my body and could hear the hoof beats of Death’s black horse. I felt little pricks of pain as Gerrallt sewed my wounds closed and as I drifted into unconsciousness I whispered a prayer for the Gods to watch over Gerrallt and Georgina.
Nearly a year passed before I could complete a full day’s work, and had it not been for Gerrallt I would have died. Again a nearly complete stranger had saved my life. After I worked for another moon on Gerrallt’s farm he told me it was time to leave. He had chosen to live alone and although he loved me it was time to part company. He placed his sword in my hand, shield on my arm, and a large bundle in my hands. Open that when the wind blows in your face and the cold is too great to bear, he said. I started to walk towards Radcliffe, and when I turned to look at what was my home for the last two years, I saw Gerrallt walk into the hovel and gently close the door.
Since I had no recollection of how I got to Gerrallt’s house it took me several days to return to Radcliffe, and when I did I saw that more tragedy had been laid in my path. Georgina had died, nearly a year ago, could I have helped her if I had been here? Her tombstone bore her name, and this inscription:

As I am so too will you become,
As I breathed so too will your breath end.
When this life has past know that your soul does not succumb,
It is just a change in the road, a gentle bend.
Never forget the road, from which you come,
And never greet a traveler, who is not a friend.
Never let sorrow or anger, make you beat hatred’s drum,
Always be thankful for the time you have to spend,
And never waste a moment being glum.

Her cousin, Nevan, was now in charge of the town guard and with nothing better to do I joined him in service. For nearly three years I trained for battle in hopes that I could someday swing my sword in defense of Rohan. One day we received news that a small group from Mordor was sailing up the mighty Anduin River toward the Dead Marshes. Since this was only a few days ride, ten members of the town guard, including myself and Nevan, leap to our horses and went to scout.
When we encountered the Mordor group we saw only about five so we charged. As our spears landed on our foes, another group of about five stepped from behind a knoll and fired bows down on us; immediately four of our group died. I yelled for the others to charge with me against the archers, who were less than 30 yards away. With thundering hooves we trampled the archers and swung around to kill the remainder. As we did Nevan was hit by a spear well thrown spear. The remaining troops dispatched the rest of the Mordorians while I knelt beside Nevan. I had lost so many friends and to have another dieing in front of me was painful. I used what medicine I had but the wound was great. I recalled watching Georgina focusing her energy on a dieing man and how it had brought life back to him and so I closed my eyes and repeated exactly what she had said. I could feel energy being pulled from my body and as I was about to collapse I saw it, a giant flame covered eye staring at me through the mists of my mind. For the first time in my life fear flooded over me. As I flung my eyes open to look for my attacker, tears flowed from my eyes and swept the grime of combat from my face. Instinctively I looked to Mordor, I knew I had cast magic because I could hear Nevan moving beneath me, and so did Sauron.


Afraid that I could only bring trouble to my friends I picked up what gear I had and walked away. Since that time I have simply walked Middle Earth waiting for darkness to surround me and for me to leave the waking world, but it has yet to come. I am guided only by the words on Georgina’s tomb.
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Re: Book of Lost Tales

Post by Better Quell Jorel on Sat Nov 29, 2014 2:52 pm

I could feel energy being pulled from my body and as I was about to collapse I saw it, a giant flame covered eye staring at me through the mists of my mind. For the first time in my life fear flooded over me. As I flung my eyes open to look for my attacker, tears flowed from my eyes and swept the grime of combat from my face. Instinctively I looked to Mordor, I knew I had cast magic because I could hear Nevan moving beneath me, and so did Sauron.

Yes, for the great eye is ever watchful. It knows when you are sleeping. It knows when you're awake. It knows if you've been bad or good so...be bad because you'll be mowed down by an army of evil if you aren't.
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Re: Book of Lost Tales

Post by Casey on Sat Nov 29, 2014 3:02 pm

So do you know who this is? It sounds like Deorwine, and it's your writing style (I think), but this story is completely different than your other background story you posted for him in the other thread.
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Re: Book of Lost Tales

Post by Better Quell Jorel on Sun Nov 30, 2014 9:52 pm

So do you know who this is? It sounds like Deorwine, and it's your writing style (I think), but this story is completely different than your other background story you posted for him in the other thread.

Sadly, I do not.
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